


Don't You Dare

by mementomoriarty



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mementomoriarty/pseuds/mementomoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An argument about Grantaire's drinking. </p>
<p>"Let me guess, the siren song of the alcohol is just too much for your mortal mind to resist. Are you honestly so weak as to use that excuse? Aren't you man enough to admit that you just haven't tried hard enough—no, I take that back, you haven't tried at all to quit, have you?"</p>
<p>No reply came.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't You Dare

“I’m done, Grantaire. I am so unbelievably done.”  
  
Grantaire visibly flinched, as if he’d suffered a physical blow. He crossed his arms and squared his shoulders, steeling himself for the rest of this conversation. It was not a conversation he particularly wanted to have. This, he decided, this was his worst nightmare. He loved Enjolras, he adored him: Enjolras was his sun and stars, his source of light. He was well aware that this wasn’t necessarily a healthy outlook on a relationship, but he was also aware that he was a depressed alcoholic, with an addiction and a therapist. Nothing involving himself had the capability of being healthy.  
  
“Look at me.” Enjolras demanded. Grantaire shook his head, staring pointedly at the floor. Feeling a surge of anger, Enjolras crossed the room, grabbing the cynic’s beer bottle from the coffee table and wrapping his fingers in his curls. Where the touch had once been loving and sometimes gentle, it stung and made Grantaire's eyes water as E jerked his head up. “What did I tell you about this, Grantaire?” He practically sneered, shoving the bottle into Grantaire’s hands.  
  
“That I had to quit.” Grantaire managed, though his voice was strained. He made a weak attempt to pull away, to look anywhere but at Enjolras. He couldn't bear the look on his face, couldn't bear the thought that he'd really screwed up so badly that Enjolras might leave him even though he knew he had, couldn't imagine anything worse.  
  
“What a great job you’ve done of it, too.” Enjolras muttered, and he let go in disgust when he felt the other wince again. He turned on his heel abruptly, going for the door, when Grantaire’s voice stopped him.  
  
“It’s not that easy, Enjolras.” R had stood, something akin to anger and pain burning in his eyes.  
  
"Isn't it? Let me guess, the siren song of the alcohol is just too much for your mortal mind to resist. Are you honestly so weak as to use that excuse? Aren't you man enough to admit that you just haven't tried hard enough - no, I take that back, you haven't tried at all to quit, have you?"  
  
No reply came.  
  
"You really are that useless. I should've known." He crossed the room in a few strides, picking up the bottle where it had fallen, forgotten, from Grantaire's hands, spilling all over the sofa. "This," he snapped, gesturing at Grantaire with the bottle, "is all you're good for."  
  
Grantaire was too stunned to try and hide the tear that dripped off his chin, and he wiped at his face furiously, angry with himself for proving Enjolras right and being so weak, so weak enough to cry over something as stupid as this. But it wasn't stupid, not to Grantaire, he loved Enjolras, he adored him, there was a time when he'd though he couldn't live without him. Maybe he still couldn't. "Enjolras, please."  
  
"Please what? Don't leave you? Don't leave the person who's too enslaved by his addiction to bother caring about anything else?"  
  
"That's not true." Grantaire murmured, and if his voice broke, neither chose to comment on it. "I care about you. You know that. You know how much I love you."  
  
"Could've fooled me." It was cruel and unnecessary, he knew, but the words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them. He grit his teeth, forcing himself to not let the situation get much farther out of hand.  
  
"I'd worship the ground you walk on, if you'd let me, you know that."  
  
"Then why won't you even try to quit drinking, hm? I want to know, R. Why not?"  
  
"Because," Grantaire began, taking measured, even breaths as he studied the other's face, hoping there'd be some trace of emotion amidst the marble of the statue's face. There wasn't. Not in that moment, not when Grantaire braced himself to vomit his soul. "A simple fact of this relationship is that I love you a whole lot more than you love me." When Enjolras merely blinked at him, without response, he continued. "Don't deny it. You know it's true just as much as I do. And you know what? It hurts like hell, waking up everyday with you in my head and in my thoughts and in my dreams and knowing you'll hardly even look up from your work to look at me. Knowing you could have—should have—so much better than me. Knowing that for you, there is always something else. Knowing that I'm...useless, to you. I'm just...here. I need you, Enjolras, but you've never needed me. Not any more than you need anyone. It's just a fact of our relationship." He shrugged after a moment of silence that hung between them, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.  
  
Fury and rage boiled in the pit of Enjolras' stomach. He balled his hands into fists, keeping them resolutely next to his sides to avoid lashing out and breaking Grantaire's nose. "Do not begin to tell me that I don't love you enough." He growled, gripping the bottle so tightly he was surprised it didn't shatter in his hands.  
  
"Why not?" Grantaire snapped, and where Grantaire, the hurt and broken lover, had been standing moments ago Grantaire, the bitter and callous drunkard, now stood. "Are you going to try and tell me I'm wrong? Are you going to try and convince me otherwise because it somehow offends you, O mighty and powerful Apollo? Does it upset you that I've accused you of something that's just part of your nature. You have never needed me, Enjolras, at least, not like I've needed you. Don't try changing now."  
  
Despite his words, Grantaire's facade faltered and his eyes widened and he danced a few steps backward as Enjolras dropped the now empty beer bottle and stepped toward him, with his jaw set and fury in his eyes. With a shock of fear and dismay he couldn't help, Grantaire found himself backed against the wall and he yelped when Enjolras wrapped his hands in his shirt and pressed against him.  
  
"Do not begin to tell me that I don't love you enough." He repeated in a hiss. "Don't even dare telling me that, when I've had to sit by and watch you kill yourself slowly. When I've watched you hurt yourself, made a fool of yourself by repeatedly picking up the damn bottle and drinking yourself into a stupor. When I've sacrificed sleep looking for you, worrying about you, only to find you passed out in some alleyway, oblivious to the world, oblivious to me, oblivious to how sick you'd made me. I have shouted at you, bargained with you, and begged you to stop, but you won't. You said you'd do anything for me, but that was a lie, wasn't it?"  
  
Grantaire pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head.  
  
"No, don't argue with me." He snapped before Grantaire could speak. "I asked you to quit, I asked this one thing of you, this one simple thing, and you refused. Who loves whom more, Grantaire, when you can't even try to get through this for me - with me?"  
  
For a moment, both of them stood there, both of them shaking and their breathing trembling. Grantaire's hands gripped Enjolras' wrists, though he'd made no attempt to push him away throughout his entire rant. Enjolras tilted the cynic's chin back, forcing him to meet his gaze, before letting go and taking a step away.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Enjolras merely snorted and shook his head.  
  
"I can try, Enjolras. You know I'll screw up in the end, I always do, but I can try, I will try. Just don't—" He reached for him, but Enjolras easily stepped out of his grasp.  
  
"No, Grantaire." Enjolras sighed. "It's too late for that."

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry. My best friend and I are having Ship Wars, where we issue writing challenges to each other with a time limit. I was supposed to write something angst-y, and this is the drabble that stemmed from it.
> 
> Also slightly inspired by Rory's line to Amy in 'Asylum of the Daleks'. 
> 
> I understand it may be a little out of character for both of them, but I felt like Enjolras wouldn't quite understand 'addiction.' I understand that it's not so easy as just 'putting the bottle down', and I expect it's a lot more complicated for Grantaire than just that. So, here's what I wrote. Hope you enjoyed~


End file.
